Chapter Thirteen
Saturday morning, 1:25 AM
Lucky dropped his black, plastic bags at his feet, and took a flexible, plastic card from his wallet. He glanced around quickly, but the area was deserted, dark and quiet with only the sound of an occasional passing car. There were no residences near this building, and all of the businesses were closed for the night. He slid the card easily in between the door and the door jam. He wiggled it with skilled finesse, and after concentrating on this activity for about ten minutes, he was rewarded with a sharp click.
Lucky opened the back door to the free-clinic and stepped inside. They need a good bolt on that back door, he thought as he re-locked the door behind him. Although he was tempted, he was careful not to turn on any lights so he could avoid detection from the street. He padded silently to the front of the clinic, turning his head left and right, looking for the room with the bed. Lucky stepped up to the medical supply cabinet with its locked doors and glass front. His index finger traced the rough imprint of the lock, and he sighed and turned away. He crept over to the glass front door and bent his head over, trying to read the backward, lettered clinic hours. Saturday: Noon to Five PM. That's good. I can sleep in and no one will notice.
Lucky found the room he was looking for and plopped his bags on the end of the bed. He sought out the shower and relaxed for the first time that night under the hot spray. As he stood there with his head back and water streaming through his long hair, he turned the soap between his hands and scrubbed his face and body repetitively, trying to feel clean.
After his shower, Lucky walked up to the bed and opened one of his plastic bags. He was coughing and thought he had a fever. He moved items to the side repeatedly until he found the plastic bottle. After struggling for a minute with the plastic childproof cap, Lucky shook out three aspirins into his palm and shoved them into his mouth. He turned on the cold water in the room's little sink and bent over to take several long gulps.
As he settled into bed, it occurred to him that he'd have to start thinking soon, instead of just wandering around from place to place and doing drugs. Lucky checked again to make sure that his gun was still under his pillow where he placed it. He sank further into the luxuriously clean sheets, and with an exhausted, blank mind, fell sound asleep.
~*~*~*~
Saturday morning, 6:30 AM
Tony prepared to leave his house early on a Saturday morning, ready to attack Cortland Street in his search for Lucky. He started his car engine and glanced over at the photo of Lucky on the front passenger seat. Dear Lord, please let this work.
Tony decided to start first with businesses that he thought Lucky might frequent - quick markets, drug stores, and fast food restaurants. He parked his car near the corner of 8th and Cortland, jumped out with the photo in hand, and locked the doors.
~*~*~*~
Saturday morning, 8:15 AM
Lucky woke up disoriented by his surroundings. When he tried to raise his head from the pillow, he immediately fell back. It felt like his brains were on fire, and there were hot pokers jabbing behind his eyes. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, noticing that his mouth was completely dry and his chest was aching. He swung his legs off of the bed and attempted to stand. He started coughing and shivering and fell on the floor. Taking his hand away from his mouth, he reached out for the bed, pulling himself back up and leaning on it for support. He didn't notice the blood that smeared from his hand to the sheets. Lucky just wanted to crawl back into bed and stay there, but he thought, Gotta get outta here. What if someone decides to open up early? He looked up at the wall to note the time. I have to find some money and an apartment or a motel room, he thought desperately.
Not bothering to wash up, Lucky searched his bag for his last clean shirt - a thick sweatshirt that he was grateful for since he felt so cold. He rapidly pulled on the same old jeans that he'd been wearing for the last week, and slipped on his shoes and jean jacket. He retrieved his gun from under the pillow, and after checking to make sure that each chamber contained a bullet, placed it in the waistband of his jeans. Lucky quickly grabbed his plastic bags and headed for the back door. In his haste to exit out of there, he didn't make the bed and accidentally left behind his discarded shirt.
~*~*~*~
Saturday morning, 8:30 AM
Tony had walked the length of Cortland Street for almost two hours now. He first tried all of the 24-hour places. Anyone passing Tony on the street would be able to tell that he was very upset by the look on his face.
The cashier at the 24-hour drugstore remembered Lucky. "Oh, yeah, I remember him," she laughed. "He's the scruffy kid with the major bug problems," she explained, describing the large cans of RAID that Lucky had purchased a week ago. "He made some purchases, then came back here all in a fluster, and banged down two humongous cans of RAID on the counter, mumbling about monster bugs in his apartment." The cashier paused to wipe tears of laughter from her eyes.
What concerned Tony the most was the story that the White Castle assistant manager related. The man was almost ready to finish his night shift when Tony entered the restaurant and showed Lucky's photo.
"Have any of you seen this young man recently?" Tony asked. "His hair is a lot longer now, and he's a bit thinner. He's probably about 5'8" and 110 pounds. He might have been coughing or ill. He was wearing a torn sweatshirt and dirty jeans."
The manager's brown eyes flashed with recognition. "I saw him last night and the night before. He was hanging out here paying hamburger rent." When Tony looked at the manager quizzically, the man snorted and explained, "He was buyin' one hamburger an hour to reserve booth space." The man pointed over to the blue booths. "I remember him. He did cough a lot and laid his head down quite a bit. That is, until he left with the baby hooker."
Tony lifted his eyebrows, and the manager laughed. "What do you expect from a 24-hour joint on Cortland Street? It's a real convenient spot for these hookers. They like the roof over their heads while they're waiting around. That little hooker went off with your friend there. She came back all crying and hysterical, but I never saw your friend again. They had to take that girl home she was shaking and wailing so bad." The manager shook his head. "Well, any other questions? I'd like to go now."
Tony shook his head. "No, thanks. You've been very helpful."
Stepping out of the restaurant, Tony looked at his watch. Two more hours and I can officially report him missing.
~*~*~*~
Saturday morning, 8:45 AM
Tony walked up to the free-clinic and opened the front door with his key. He walked back to his office to grab some files to work on later in the afternoon to prepare for the next week. The clinic had experienced a lot of networking problems and still was not connected to General Hospital. It made everything a hassle since all paperwork had to be filled out by hand and hand-carried back to GH for data entry.
Tony walked past the shower area and noticed that there was a dripping noise. Investigating, he saw that the shower had been used somewhat recently and that it was not turned off completely. Tony immediately became suspicious and ran to the room with the bed. No one was in the room, but it was obvious that it had been occupied recently. The bed was all askew and rumpled. Something caught Tony's eye, and he walked over to the bed and picked up a torn sweatshirt. Lucky! Tony's stomach sank when he saw the long smear of blood on the sheets.
~*~*~*~
Saturday morning, 9:45 AM
Tony sat once again in the PCPD waiting area. He grabbed a rumpled, two year old Newsweek, but just rifled through the pages without reading. He was too on edge to concentrate and drummed his fingers on the end table to his right while he repeatedly cleared his throat and sipped from his white paper coffee cup.
Marcus Taggert entered the area, and Tony brightened up and called out, "Marcus!" Taggert turned around to see a worried looking Tony Jones.
"What's up, Tony? What are you doing here?" he asked casually.
"I'm trying to file a missing persons report on my nephew, I mean, former nephew, Lucky Spencer," Tony said.
Taggert looked more concerned and walked over to Tony. "What's this about Lucky Spencer?"
"He is very ill and has pneumonia. I tried to treat him yesterday, but he left the free-clinic without medication. I'm very concerned. He's homeless and could die out there easily without proper treatment and a roof over his head. He's also shown some signs of mental impairment." Tony went on to relate the results of his search for Lucky and the problem at White Castle.
"I get off later tonight. Do you want me to help you look for the kid?" Taggert asked. "I saw him in an alley about a week ago, and he looked and sounded terrible. I'd like to help if I can."
Tony's face relaxed dramatically. "That would be great."
Taggert took Tony's shoulder and led him over to the desk. "Let's file that report," he said.